


(Little) Death in the Afternoon

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [29]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Birthday Smut, F/M, Phrack Fucking Friday, Prompt Fic, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Phryne and Jack have taken a small house in Morocco for a stop along their trip home from London. The house has one particular feature that Phryne plans to take advantage of: a private inner courtyard, shaded from the full force of the desert sun. One wonders what our intrepid detectives will get up to?





	(Little) Death in the Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allison_Wonderland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allison_Wonderland/gifts).



> So the lovely Allison_Wonderland sent me this photo months ago:  
> 
> 
> She even titled it for me, after [this cocktail](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_in_the_Afternoon_\(cocktail\)).
> 
> I managed to sit on it for way too long, but it seems like everything happens for a reason, because now I can gift her the fic on her actual birthday! Happy birthday, friend - sorry this took me so long. ♥

Jack looked up from his position on the mattress-like lounger to see Phryne coming toward him, followed by the house’s majordomo, Qasim. The older man held a flat tray with high wooden sides on which he carried two champagne coupes, a small bottle of a pale green liquid, and a bottle of champagne. Phryne wore a very satisfied smirk and a loose Moroccan-style robe in creamy white, its neckline heavily embroidered in colorful curves and lines of blue, green, and scarlet that reminded Jack of the tilework they’d seen as they’d wandered the city.

As Phryne approached, Jack closed his book and shifted to make room on the lounge, gathering the fabric of his own loose robe—a sand-colored masterpiece of silk bordered in its own thick embroidery in the colors of a desert sunset. There was a second lounge beside him, but by this time, Jack could read the look on his lover’s face, and he was fairly sure she was in the mood to share, an idea to which he had no objections at all.

He lifted a helping hand to Phryne as she settled herself beside him, keeping her long legs modestly covered; she took it, though she didn’t need it to balance—she squeezed it gently, lowering it to the cushions between them. Qasim flashed a smile at Jack and crouched to place his tray on the small table between the lounges. 

“Hello, darling,” Phryne said, her fingers threading between his and her smile tender. “I thought that you might need a refreshing beverage. It’s so warm out here.”

“That’s very kind of you.” He watched as Qasim unloaded his tray, adding small dishes of olives and almonds to the bottles and glasses. “It is warm, though the breeze off the pool is lovely. I might take a dip later.” 

“Perhaps I’ll join you,” she replied. Turning to the older man, she smiled. “Thank you, Qasim.”

“Will that be all, miss?” Qasim’s voice was light, and he stood, unfolding his body easily from the ground and tucking the empty tray under his arm.

“Yes, thank you. Have a lovely day.” 

Jack felt his eyebrows rise as the older man sketched a small bow their way, his hands pressed flat together, before bustling away, his simple dark blue robe rustling behind him. Phryne turned back to face Jack, lifting their linked hands to her lips and pressing a kiss to his fingers.

“What are you up to, Miss Fisher?” He asked the question playfully, loving the mischievous look on her face.

“I don’t know what you mean, Jack,” she said, her smirk belying her innocent tone as she released his fingers and turned to the table of food and drink Qasim had left. “I just thought, after so many days in the company of other people, some time on our own might be appreciated.” The curve of her lips stretching into a smile, Phryne reached for the champagne bottle and handed it back to Jack to open. “I’ve given the staff the evening off. Dinner is prepared and waiting for us in the oven, and we’ve nothing to do and nowhere to go before morning.”

Bemused, Jack set to work opening the champagne, grateful that in the time they’d been together, he’d had plenty of practice. As he worked, he watched Phryne lift the bottle of green liquid and pour a portion into the bottom of each coupe. When she finished, she set the bottle aside and popped an almond into her mouth before turning back to Jack with a second between her fingers. Holding it to his lips, she took the open champagne bottle from him. He accepted the offering, taking the nut into his mouth and sliding his tongue over her fingers to relieve her of the salt and olive oil it had left behind, and her expression changed, her eyelids lowering and her pupils widening at the sensation.

“Hold that thought, Jack,” she murmured, pressing the pad of her finger to his lower lip as he chewed.

Jack pressed a quick kiss to her finger as she pulled away, turning to tip the champagne bottle over the coupes. Leaning forward, Jack pressed himself gently against her back, watching as she made their drinks. The pale green liquid she’d poured in the bottom of the glasses lightened to a brighter yellow-green as it was diluted by the champagne. The bubbles frothed on the liquid, their soft hissing seeming amplified in the quiet courtyard.

“What is that?” 

Phryne shivered a little as Jack’s voice caressed her skin. It was ridiculous, what this man could do with just words—one time, he’d read to her from D.H. Lawrence, and she’d come from the sound of his voice alone.

“Absinthe—don’t twitch like that, Jack, I’m convinced that it’s nowhere near as dangerous as they say—mixed with champagne.” Finishing her champagne pour with a flourish, she set the bottle aside and lifted the glasses, turning to nestle against his chest even as she handed one to him. “It’s called ‘Death in the Afternoon’.”

Jack eyed the contents of his coupe, his skeptical expression amusing Phryne. 

“Trust me,” she said, and lifted her glass to her lips, holding his eyes and waiting until he did the same. Without blinking or looking away, she tilted the glass, letting the cool, bubbly drink flow into her mouth. Jack’s face as he sipped changed to a look of pleased surprise, and Phryne grinned.

“So Jack,” she said, “we have the rest of the day…” She trailed one finger up the center of his chest until she reached the hollow of his throat; brushing the tip of her finger there, she blinked up at him. “We shouldn’t waste it.”

Jack took a deliberate sip of his drink even as he ran his hand up her back to the nape of her neck. Phryne rolled her neck in the cage of his fingers, her smile turning sultry. His lips curved as he leaned in to cover her mouth with his in a licorice-sweet caress.

Sometimes, Jack’s kisses began softly, an undemanding press of lips against lips, and other times, they barely kissed at all in the frenzied quest for pleasure. This kiss was a journey in itself. It was not the scorching heat of coming together after a time apart, as their London reunion had been, nor the questioning exploration of a new lover. He threw himself into the kiss, his arm around her and his hand on her neck the only points of contact, since his other hand still held his half-full coupe. Phryne’s hand flattened against his sternum and slid up to cup his jaw, loving the way it moved against her palm, her own glass curled against her chest.

As his mouth moved over hers, Jack’s fingers stroked the back of her neck, ruffling the ends of her hair, and Phryne felt that caress all through her body. She’d planned for this—dismissing the household staff for the day, requesting this particular cocktail, and doing her best to entice Jack away from his book—and yet she was never quite as prepared as she believed when it came to Jack’s kisses. Her body flushed and tingled, and she could feel his arousal rising against her hip, a sensation that never failed to heighten her own awareness. She wanted to be closer to him, wanted to feel his skin against hers. Pulling away, she took another drink and then reached out to set her glass on the small table before turning back to him. He’d drained his drink and wordlessly held out the glass to her.

Taking it, Phryne stood to pull her robe up and over her head—she was nude beneath it, another of her preparations, and she watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed. His face was so expressive, at least to her, and it thrilled her to watch his pupils widen and his cheeks flush. She knew that she was beautiful—it was something she used to her advantage when necessary—but to know that he found her so made a warmth rise in her stomach. 

“Your turn, Jack,” she murmured, and he pushed to his feet to strip off his own robe, and then the loose trousers he wore beneath it. Phryne bit her lip as she watched his muscles flex beneath warm golden skin, his beautiful cock rising long and hard from the nest of dark curls at the top of his thighs. 

When he was naked, she gently set her hands to his shoulders and guided him backward to stretch out on the low lounging couch. He watched her, eyes hot and hands resting lightly on her hips, as she followed him down, swinging one leg over his hips until she straddled him, the wet heat of her sex aligning over his. Leaning forward, Phryne set her hands on the cushion beside his head and brought her mouth to his; he met her with open lips, his palms sliding up to cover her breasts, and she moaned lightly and rolled her hips, the slickness of her arousal causing her to slide easily along the length of his cock.

Jack groaned deep in his chest as Phryne began to move. He wasn’t even inside her and he was already close to orgasm. How did she do this to him? In the years between Rosie leaving and the day he arrived on the docks in Southampton in pursuit of a certain honorable miss, he hadn’t particularly missed sex. He’d relieved himself, of course, but that had become routine, a type of exercise like going out on his bicycle, meant only to keep himself in good health so that he could do his job well. Granted, the need for relief had become considerably more frequent after Phryne Fisher appeared in his life, but still, sex hadn’t been something he truly felt he needed. 

And then Phryne, with her moonlight skin and her blue-sky eyes, had met him at the docks. She had booked them into a hotel nearby in the hopes that he would be as eager as she was, though she’d said she’d have accepted it if he’d needed more time before they became lovers. He hadn’t. They’d spent that afternoon and well into the night learning each other’s bodies, making a start on what each of them did and didn’t like in their lovemaking. She was fearless, and her openness made him fear less. 

In the months since then, their passion hadn’t faded—they’d made love in every way he’d ever imagined, and then found a few more variations to try. This one, with the warm Moroccan sun heating their skin and the taste of licorice on their tongues, was new, and he shuddered in reaction as her mouth fell to the hollow behind his ear, her nipples hard against his fingers and the heat of her sex scorching against his.

“God, Phryne,” he said, surprised by how low his voice had dropped in his chest. “Do you want me to beg?”

Her laugh was low and filthy, warm air gusting against his neck, and he slid his hands from her breasts down her back to cup her ass, urging her more firmly against him. Pushing up on one hand, she reached the other down between their bodies to grasp his cock.

“Fuck,” the word, exhaled on a sharp breath, came nowhere near encompassing how it felt when she pumped his cock in her fist. He arched his neck, his eyes remaining on her. Her expression was suffused with wicked glee, her tongue coming out to touch her upper lip as she worked him.

“I love this,” she whispered, her eyes on his face. “The feel of you in my hand, hard as steel and soft as satin. The look on your face when I touch you, and the sounds you make when I take you in.” Shifting, she gave his cock one last tug as she rose above him, holding his tip at the entrance to her body. 

As she guided him inside, Jack heard the low, soughing breath that moved out of his lungs in a noise that he’d never been aware of making before.

“Yes…” the sibilant hung in the air, a soprano counterpoint to his bass as Phryne let her head fall back while her body closed around him, “that sound.” She shifted her hips side to side, moving onto him in small increments, and Jack reached to hold her hands, their fingers twining together as she worked to take all of him. When she settled fully against him, the smooth globes of her ass coming to rest gently on his thighs, she sighed, a beatific smile washing over her face. 

“And this feeling…” she breathed, “so full…” 

Phryne lifted her head again to look down at Jack, and he could not breathe for a moment, she was so beautiful. Her hair was mussed, her bare lips slightly swollen from his kisses. A light flush ran from her collarbone to the tops of her breasts, and her nipples stood hard against her soft curves.

“Phryne, you—” he began, but broke off as she began to move in long, languid swerves of her hips, pulling herself up the length of his cock only to slide down again, more easily now that she’d taken him in once. Her hands held tightly to his, and he braced his arms to support her. “God, yes, like that.”

“Jack…” Phryne drew out his name, her eyes fluttering momentarily shut before she forced them open again. She didn’t want to miss it when he came apart—it was, she’d found, one of her favorite things in the world.

She watched his jaw clench, its angled strength standing out more than usual with the motion, and then he bared his teeth, his hips beginning to dance in counterpoint with hers. Their rhythm of advance and withdrawal was intensified by the pairing of their movements, and she caught her breath. Every time. It was like this every time. 

Her breath coming faster, she pushed against his hands, still entwined with hers, and looked down to watch his stomach muscles ripple with his movements. 

“Kiss me, Jack,” she gasped, and he stilled his hips to roll up against her, his hands gently maneuvering hers backward so that he could wrap his arms around her, their hands at the small of her back. She leaned in to meet his mouth, letting him kiss her as she continued to move against his now-still hips. 

Jack felt a growl roll up from his belly at the feel of her nipples dragging across his skin. He pulled away, wanting to see them; ducking his head, he tried to take one into his mouth, but couldn’t quite reach. Without thought, he slid his fingers from between Phryne’s only to cage both of her wrists in one of his hands. Her breath hitched, and he tugged her backward until her spine arched away, lifting her breasts high. Sliding his free hand around, he cupped one soft globe, leaning in to cover her nipple with his mouth.

Phryne moaned, her hips stuttering, and he glanced up at her—her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, and the arc of her throat a clear invitation. Licking her nipple into his mouth again, he swept his hand up her chest to close lightly over her throat. Then he suckled, hard, loving the taste and texture of her skin. With a small scream, Phryne shattered, her inner muscles rippling strongly along the length of his shaft, and Jack felt his own climax bullet through him. His strangled cry was muffled by the breast he still suckled, and the arm he had wrapped around her contracted, pulling her tightly against him.

When his muscles unlocked, he released her hands, flattening his palm against her spine to hold her close. He laid his forehead against her chest and turned his head to one side so that he could catch his breath; he felt her fingers thread into his hair as she bent over him, pressing her mouth to the top of his head.

“My Jack,” she murmured. “I had no idea that you would consider restraints in the bedroom.” Her voice was breathless, and he could feel the small aftershocks of her orgasm continue to ripple through her pelvis, small, intimate squeezes that made him realize that he’d be ready for another round more quickly than he would have thought.

“It’s the only way I can stay ahead of you, Miss Fisher,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the inner curve of her breast.

“Cuff me anytime, inspector,” she said, laughter threading through her words. “And if you’re good, I’ll do the same for you.”

Jack started at the idea, his eyebrows rising. He’d never considered… but she’d seemed to like it, so maybe… 

“If only I’d brought my darbys with me,” he said, tilting his head backward, the weight of his skull resting on her hands. He met her eyes, loving the glint of humor he saw there, along with the flush on her cheekbones.

“I’m sure that we can find a way to make do.” 

“We always do,” he agreed, pulling her close again. “We always do.”


End file.
